


water over wine

by lateralplosion



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Formula One, Even more reckless decision-making, M/M, Reckless Driving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralplosion/pseuds/lateralplosion
Summary: Trying to keep track of Mercedes' newest driver Liu Yangyang is almost impossible, but it certainly doesn't stop Renjun from trying.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Liu Yang Yang
Comments: 75
Kudos: 410
Collections: ’00 FIC FEST: ROUND ONE





	water over wine

**Author's Note:**

> for prompt #0056 ♡

> _**Mercedes under fire: Was Liu Yangyang a mistake?  
>  **_14 April, 2019 — Shanghai, China  
>  by Huang Renjun
> 
> Today's race in Shanghai marked an important milestone in the history of Formula One—not only as the 1000th race to be held since its inaugural event in 1950, but also as a pivotal turning point for Team Mercedes and its newest driver Liu Yangyang.
> 
> The Mercedes F1 racing team has had a long-standing history of victories in the sport, with Lee Taeyong having won the last two championships and Mercedes cinching their fifth consecutive constructor's championship in a row. As renown and beloved driver Ten Li had his contract with Renault come to an end after the 2018 season, many fans and industry executives had been expecting Mercedes to sign Li for this year. The decision to go with total newcomer Liu Yangyang instead has been met with controversy, criticism, and a lukewarm reception.
> 
> Liu made his Formula One debut at the Australian Grand Prix this past March after securing the Championship Title for Formula Two just the year prior. While his other accomplishments include multiple podium finishes in Formula Two and Three, what makes Liu's racing pedigree so heavily frowned-upon is his remarkably high amount of collisions with other drivers. A quick review of his racing career would have many of his fans calling his driving style unnecessarily bold. Those who are not so inclined to sugar coat would flat out say that Liu's driving is reckless.
> 
> His performance today in Shanghai is preceded by a rocky start to his Formula One career, notably his collision with McLaren's Na Jaemin in Monte Carlo that left both drivers out of the race in the early laps. Longtime fans of F1 who are familiar with the Circuit de Monaco would know that overtaking is close to impossible in the tight, twisting turns of this historic track. The imminent danger of collision, however, was apparently not enough to stop Liu from trying to pass Na during the track's most famous curve the Fairmont Hairpin, a risky move that only resulted in the end of both their races.
> 
> Participants at the China Grand Prix were similarly not spared from Liu's reckless and dangerous driving maneuvers, as his multiple attempts to overtake other drivers led to several close calls. After securing P-5 in qualifying yesterday, Liu's chance of victory was arguably the most within his grasp it had been all season. After making it up to P-3, however, Liu elected to not pit alongside the other two front runners. Ultimately it was this decision that cost him the podium, resulting in his worn tyres causing him to spin out of control and into the barriers, which allowed Zhong Chenle, Wong Yukhei, and fellow Mercedes teammate Lee Taeyong to take the podium.
> 
> This loss cost Liu what could have potentially been a game-changing victory, and now many have begun to question whether or not Liu Yangyang's addition to the team might cost the Formula One giant a shot at victory during the 2019 season. To some, Liu's recklessness on the track may seem like a bold and courageous power move on Mercedes' part, but for now, Liu Yangyang is turning out to be nothing but a giant liability.

_July 26th, 2019  
Mannheim City Airport, Mannheim_

Mannheim is quiet when he lands, just a couple hours shy of midnight. Renjun's standing outside in the arrival pickup area, his hands shoved deep into the dips of his elbows and breath pearling up in front of his face. For a night like this, everything is strangely subdued, the glassy sheen of the street lights making the evening seem much lonelier than it is. His phone, now at 9% battery, flickers on for a moment in his palm before falling dark again.

Just down the curb, a couple of slick white taxis idle towards the far end of the pickup zone, and Renjun makes his way down towards them.

The passenger side window of the nearest taxi rolls down as Renjun approaches, and he tenses up a little, swallowing back nervousness.

"Uh." Heat rises up the back of his neck as he flounders for the right words. "I need to go to the Leonardo Hotel," Renjun tries, mustering up his best English. "In the city."

The driver gives him an unreadable look through the window, and merely starts up the car.

Renjun swallows again, gripping his bag strap. "Do you know it?"

The driver grunts and unlocks the doors. "I know it."

Relief floods Renjun's body as he exhales noisily, nodding. "Thanks," he says, getting in the back seat.

The driver doesn't say anything else to him during the drive, but luckily it only takes a little over ten minutes before the cab is pulling up alongside the outside of the hotel. Renjun fumbles to pull out his euros, fishing out what he hopes is the right amount and muttering a low thank you.

The hotel exterior is well lit, and Renjun exhales through his nose, shoving his hand into his pocket for his phone. Only four percent left. He turns on his pocket wi-fi, then calls Donghyuck.

"I'm here," Renjun says, craning his neck up to take a look at the building in front of him. The back of his neck prickles, and Renjun swallows back some of the adrenaline building up in his throat. "Come down and get me."

"Give me a sec—" Donghyuck's voice goes fuzzy and crackly for a moment—Renjun hopes that his pocket Wi-Fi won't die on him—before coming back full force. "Just go into the lobby and wait for me there."

"You want to tell me how you managed to make out with a hotel of this bracket?" Renjun comments dryly, pushing through the front doors and scrunching his nose at the luxe-looking decor in the hotel lobby. There's a leather couch in front of the check-in desk, so Renjun sits down. "I know for a fact you can't even afford half the drapings."

"I didn't." Donghyuck's voice is perfectly smug. "Part of the stipend from my boss. We just won't tell him that I'm having you crash."

Renjun crosses his arms, listening to the sound of Donghyuck's breathing and the quiet background noise of his call, and closes his eyes. "Hope you have something to eat," he murmurs, the full force of the past fifteen hours of traveling taking its toll on his body.

"We can order room service," Donghyuck says. "Just put it on my boss' tab. Where are you?"

"Here?" Renjun opens his eyes and stands up, looking around. No sign of Donghyuck anywhere. More confusion bubbles up at the back of his throat, mixes with the rush of jetlag. "I'm near the front desk."

"What do you mean—I'm literally standing right here—" Donghyuck's voice is starting to sound annoyed. "Wait—Renjun, are you at the right place?"

"What?" Renjun feels like every piece of him is on high alert, gripping the handle of his duffle bag and. He turns around rapidly, looking at the decor around him. "I—the Leonardo Hotel at City Center, right?"

"What? Renjun, _no_ , oh my god—the Leonardo _Royal_ Hotel, jesus christ—"

Renjun stares at the sign behind the concierge, his fingers going numb from the vice-like grip he has on his bag. "Shit," he murmurs, feeling a steady heat rise up in his cheekbones. He turns on his heel to promptly stride back outside, the cool night air hitting his face as he stares at the street corner. "Shit."

"Uh, okay—" Donghyuck's saying, but his voice sounds far off—distant. "Okay, this is fine. We'll just—you just need to call another taxi, okay, just—"

But whatever Donghyuck's next instructions to Renjun are, Renjun doesn't hear any of them. He stares at his phone in his hand, battery now dead, and bites down on a swear.

Renjun stops at the curb of the street, staring at the vast network of shimmering lights casting everything on the streets in a wash of yellow-gold. Touches his inner jacket pocket, the outline of a rolled-up wad of euros pressed up against his side, and considers the situation. So maybe he's stranded in downtown Mannheim just a quarter shy of midnight, with no working phone and German that's even less functional. But it could be worse. He, at least, has the name of Donghyuck's hotel.

A loud revving noise has him looking up, just in time to be blinded by bright headlights flashing directly in his face. Renjun's eyes widen as two sleek sports cars careen down the street at dangerous speeds, weaving in and out of traffic. As they near a street intersection, one of the cars runs a red light while the other one comes to a screeching halt, right in front of the street corner where Renjun is standing.

The car is beautiful—a brand-new, pearl white Mercedes Benz sports model, chrome finishings sparkling in the night. But it's not the make of the car nor its slick upgrades that has Renjun suddenly gripping his bag, staring directly into the open windows of the front seat, where the driver is nodding his head to some pounding bass music, drumming his fingers against a leather-covered steering wheel. The driver's cap is pulled down low over his eyes, but he's smiling, serpentine, all-teeth. Renjun knows that face. Has seen it on countless websites, golden and shining beneath the visor of a gleaming white helmet emblazoned with the Mercedes logo. Had watched him on television, the first time he stepped foot onto the circuit in Melbourne, on legs that would never stop moving, always in motion.

From fifty feet away, as the front wings of his chassis collided with the barriers of the Shanghai International Circuit, and the fire in his eyes was unmistakeable, even from at a distance. Renjun remembers those eyes the most.

The driver of the car is Liu Yangyang.

Donghyuck freezes in the doorway of the bathroom with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, staring down at Renjun kneeling on the floor next to his duffel bag.

"What do you mean you saw Liu Yangyang street racing down the streets of Mannheim?" Donghyuck says, wiping his toothpaste-foamy fingers on his sleep shirt. "Are you sure it wasn't somebody else?"

"It was him, Donghyuck, I know it was," Renjun snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. His shoulders are far too tight, even after spending seven hours on a plane. "You think _I_ wouldn't know what he looks like?"

Donghyuck tugs his toothbrush out of his mouth, shaking his head. "Okay, point taken. But what's he doing _here_? Shouldn't he be in Hockenheim?"

Renjun shrugs, pulling out his pajamas and night toiletries. "I don't know. I don't care."

Donghyuck puts a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow. It might have looked calculating if it weren't for the toothpaste on his upper lip. "Renjun, just three months ago you wrote the most badass op-ed about why Yangyang's acquisition might just cost Mercedes millions of dollars. I'm not sure you have any grounds to say that you don't care about Liu Yangyang."

"Shut up," Renjun mutters, standing up and pushing his way past Donghyuck into the bathroom. He turns on the faucet and grabs his cleanser. "This only proves my point. He's reckless."

Donghyuck turns around to eye him, crossing his arms. "He's brilliant, Renjun."

Renjun's mouth tightens, and he ducks over the sink, furiously scrubbing at his face. Donghyuck makes an exasperated noise.

"Renjun," he says.

"What?" Renjun snaps. "Okay, yeah, fine. He's brilliant. Of course he's a brilliant driver. You don't get signed to Mercedes unless you're brilliant. But he's also really fucking reckless. He almost crashed in Shanghai."

"He almost _won_ in Shanghai."

Renjun turns around to look Donghyuck dead in the eye. "Almost isn't a win," he says.

Donghyuck holds his gaze for a moment before snorting and turning back around and heading out of the bathroom. "Okay, Renjun. Have it your way."

Renjun finishes washing up in silence, rubbing in moisturizer under his eyes, the full day of traveling finally settling into his bones.

It's not like Donghyuck is lying. Yangyang is a damn good driver. His performance at the China Grand Prix made for some of the most exciting press coverage that the motor journalism industry's seen in years. Liu Yangyang—the first F1 driver from Taiwan at twenty-one years old—overtaking pole-position Zhong Chenle from Team Ferrari. And Yangyang might have won too, if it hadn't been for the final bend that nearly sent his vehicle slamming into the spectator stands. It was a sloppy move. A rookie mistake. That's what Renjun had written in his article covering the Chinese Grand Prix, hunched over his laptop in his hotel room at four in the morning, furiously replaying all the video footage he'd taken from the stands. In his article, he'd called Yangyang an unknown factor. That he'd either become Team Mercedes' greatest asset this season, or their biggest mistake.

It'd been almost six in the morning by the time he'd hit publish on his own personal blog site, and he'd passed out in bed without giving the article another thought. But by the time he'd woken up, it was to his phone blowing up with notifications, his Twitter app exploding with retweets and comments. Somehow, his article had gone viral overnight. Liu Yangyang was the name in everyone's mouths.

Renjun pads back out of the bathroom to see Donghyuck already sprawled out over the lofty queen bed, snoring softly. He pushes Donghyuck over to his side and edges in under the covers, staring up at the ceiling.

Despite traveling for over half a day, Renjun is so wide awake. Something about seeing Yangyang in Mannheim, just days before the German Grand Prix, is deeply unsettling him. And Renjun is so sure that it was Yangyang he saw. There's no way he'd mistake a face like that.

It takes Renjun a long time to fall asleep. And when he does, he does not dream.

_The Lotus 88 double chassis frame had been officially banned from the Formula One track in 1981_ , read the placard in front of him. According to the paragraph of descriptive text, the innovation of the double chassis worked so well in producing the much-coveted and highly controversial ground effect on the track that it had been deemed illegal before ever getting a chance to put its wheels on a Grand Prix track.

Renjun shoves his hands into his pockets, drawing his gaze over the slick black paint of the vehicle in front of him, only separated by the velvet rope barrier. The Hockenheimring Motorsports Museum is full of a quiet buzz, tourists and soon to be spectators at the German Grand Prix all getting in some last-minute tourist checklist items.

He himself had come here on a last-minute decision, after Donghyuck had been summoned to a media function for press and news reporters only. Renjun likes cars, always had. He'd learned to drive when he was still in university, practicing in his older cousin's car in Jilin during one of his holiday breaks. Renjun remembers those days with an innate sense of longing, his cousin's affectionate teasing, Renjun's shaking hands on the wheel, the exhilarating rush of rolling down the windows and zooming down an abandoned service road as fast as he'd dared. His driver's license now sits, unused, in a drawer of his desk. Renjun has no need to drive in Seoul.

The sound of footsteps echoes behind him, but Renjun doesn't turn to see who had stepped up beside him, continuing instead to examine the structure of the Lotus 88's double chassis framework.

The stranger next to him shifts audibly, and it's then that Renjun finally glances up at the young man standing next to him. He freezes up.

Liu Yangyang isn't looking at him, staring up at the signage hanging above the Lotus 88. His face, usually split open with a devious grin, is surprisingly thoughtful, brows furrowing as he studies the exhibit.

Yangyang says something, presumably in German, commenting on the exhibit in front of them. He must not have noticed that Renjun isn't a local until they make eye contact

"Oh—" Yangyang starts in English, face breaking into an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, I thought you worked here—"

Renjun swallows, subconsciously taking a step back. "No," he says, also in English, before automatically switching to Mandarin. "Sorry—"

Yangyang's face brightens, and Renjun's seen this before. Yangyang has his legion of fans, however small. A loyal group that constantly praises his sunny smile, his laugh, his puppy-like demeanor. Personally, Renjun doesn't really see it. Yangyang is more like a meerkat, in his opinion.

"Wow, lucky me, someone who speaks Chinese!" Yangyang has no concept of personal space, it seems, taking another step forward into Renjun's precious bubble. Renjun frowns and tries to take another step back, but Yangyang only surges forward again. "Are you here for the Grand Prix?"

What is the appropriate answer here, Renjun thinks desperately, when faced with a driver on one of the world's most prestigious racing teams? What is he supposed to say to a person he'd spent eight hundred words heavily criticizing, potentially smearing his reputation?

Renjun licks his lips. "I'm here to cover the event, yes." And, after a moment, "I know who you are."

Yangyang snaps his eyes onto him, cocking his head. There is something deeply unsettling in his gaze, those bright, bright eyes, something that has Renjun's insides curling and uncurling within his abdomen. "I guess a lot of people do, huh," he says. It's a factual statement, the way he says it, not one curdled with arrogance. This is someone who's grown used to recognition, the sunrays of fame touching every part of his body.

Renjun folds his arms over his chest, holds his ground. "You probably know me too." There's no point in hiding it. Renjun's never been one to cover up, not when his pride and reputation are on the line. "My name is Huang Renjun. I'm a motor journalist."

He waits, anticipating the moment that the realization sinks and and Yangyang's expression goes dark and stormy, but it never comes. Instead, Yangyang blinks. "Oh—" His eyes brighten with recognition. "Oh yeah, I know you—"

Renjun steels himself, pushing down the mounting confusion brewing in his chest at Yangyang's distinct lack of annoyance. He opens his mouth. "I'm—" he begins, preparing to tell Yangyang straight to his face that he doesn't care that Yangyang drives for an industry giant, that he doesn't care that Yangyang has been the subject of so many people's conversations as of late. That he'll write what he thinks, without any fear of retribution, because that's what a true writer does. But before he can get any of that out, Yangyang cuts him off.

"I read your article!" Yangyang says brightly. And he, truly, should have no business looking that excited over an article that potentially dragged his reputation. Renjun can't help the frown that only deepens, heart rate quickening despite all his attempts to stay calm. "I thought it was really well-written!"

"You're—" Renjun clears his throat, peering intently into Yangyang's face. "You're not upset?"

Yangyang lets out a small laugh, and Renjun knows instantly why he has so many fans, as new as he is to the Formula One circuit. Yangyang's laughter sounds like bells. "Upset?" Yangyang waves his hand dismissively. "I don't get upset about that kind of thing. I mean, you were telling the truth, so what's there to be upset about?"

Renjun stares at him in minor disbelief. "I called you a potential liability to Mercedes. You're not mad about that kind of thing?"

"Ah, well, the executives were kind of pissed about that, but it doesn't really bother me." Yangyang turns his gaze downwards, scuffing the linoleum floor with his shoe. Worn out Converse, Renjun notes. "I'm really just here to race and have a good time." He glances up at Renjun, almost expectantly. "That's what's most important, right?"

"I—" Renjun swallows. Something about Yangyang's easy acceptance unnerves him to his core. Renjun can't possibly ever imagine taking critique like that with such nonchalant grace. It's something he deeply resents about himself, how easy it is for his armor to get scratched, the way he lets every etch and mark remain to collect dust, burn into his memory. "I guess—"

The sound of vibration has them both jump slightly, and Yangyang gives him another apologetic smile, pulling out his phone. "I should probably get going soon," he tells him quietly. "I'm not really supposed to be here, but I just couldn't stand another press conference."

Renjun nods mindlessly, every single cell in his body buzzing with a quiet excitement, and takes a deep breath. "I—" he pauses. "Good luck tomorrow, I guess."

Yangyang turns around, wearing the brightest smile that Renjun's seen on him yet. "Are you going to the street party tonight?"

Donghyuck had briefly mentioned this to him the night before, but Renjun hadn't made up his mind yet. But now, something in his gut makes him nod curtly, looking Yangyang straight in the eye. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'll stop by."

Yangyang beams. "Maybe I'll see you there—"

It's not a promise, Renjun knows, even as he watches Yangyang scurry off towards the Motorsports Museum exit. World-renown Formula One drivers don't make plans to meet up with nobody writers like Renjun. And, even if they did, Renjun has no obligation to meet him. He's not going to change the way he'll write just because Yangyang is being nice to him.

But, still, something flares up behind his ribs. Renjun realizes that it feels like hope.

The Karlsruher Straße is insanely crowded by the time he and Donghyuck arrive, the street now closed to car traffic and stretching on for as far as the eye can see, brimming with bodies. Among the masses, Renjun can see the various booths and drink trucks parked along the curve, scantily clad girls handing out extravagant-looking drinks and cocktails to the masses.

"Holy shit," Donghyuck says, sounding incredibly impressed.

"No kidding." Renjun hates crowds.

"Well, no need to sound that excited," Donghyuck scoffs, grabbing Renjun by the elbow and tugging him forward into the masses. "I cannot wait to try some German beer."

Renjun scowls, quickening his pace to keep up with Donghyuck's long legs. "You mean you didn't get drunk on your first night in Mannheim? Donghyuck, I'm surprised—you're losing your touch."

Donghyuck lets out an exaggerated laugh. "Ha ha, very funny. I am here for work, you know," he says prissily. "But now I'm free for the night, so it's your job to make sure I get absolutely fucking plastered, okay baby?"

Renjun rolls his eyes, squeezing in between the bodies as he tries to follow Donghyuck through the crowd. Eventually they end up at one of the many drink trucks, where a busty red-head blinks her lashes at them from behind the serving window.

"Hi," she says coquettishly, in accented English. "What can I get you boys?"

Donghyuck answers before Renjun could ask for a soda. "Two of whatever your special is," Donghyuck tells her smugly, and Renjun flips him off.

The drink girl smiles. "Twenty-five euros."

"I hate you," Renjun tells him sourly, accepting a luridly-red drink in an over sized plastic glass. The plastic decoration sticking out of the drink is emblazoned with the yellow and black Ferrari logo.

Donghyuck makes a loud kissing sound. "Cheers, you wet blanket," he announces, clinking their glasses together. "Come on—"

It is incredibly difficult, Renjun soon learns, to navigate a whole street full of moving bodies and keep up with Donghyuck while also trying to not spill any of his overpriced drink. Thankfully, Donghyuck finds a small break in the crowd near a bench, and Renjun sits down stubbornly.

"It's going to take me like an hour to finish this, you know that, right?" Renjun mutters, giving Donghyuck a sullen glare that he only half means.

Donghyuck, who is already halfway finished with his drink, tuts disapprovingly. "Then I am just going to have to leave you here while _I_ go and have fun, you know that right?"

Renjun snorts and waves him away with flap of his hand. "You act as if I'm supposed to be disappointed."

Now it's Donghyuck's turn to roll his eyes. "I really fucking hate you sometimes," he huffs. "Don't get up to anything crazy while I'm gone."

Renjun shakes his head, watching Donghyuck press his way back into the crowd, and takes another sip of his drink. It's not bad, just ridiculously sweet. Which is, he supposes, the real danger.

Suddenly, Renjun hears screaming coming from his right, and he stands up, craning his neck to try to see above the crowd. It's difficult with his height, but he can see a small cluster of people milling around a moving pocket in the people. The screams get louder as the cluster moves closer and closer, and—between the blinding camera flashes—Renjun gets a glimpse of a black, brand-covered jacket, and Lee Taeyong's handsome profile slowly surging forward. Renjun frowns. What is a Mercedes driver doing here? Realization clicks into place just a second before the crowd clears, and then Renjun sees him too—Yangyang with his hands shoved into his pockets, wearing a similar brand-endorsed jacket, smiling shyly and waving as the fans press in on him from all sides.

Renjun is rooted to the spot, unsure of if he wants to go in closer towards the action, or remain there at a safe distance. Unfortunately, his decision is made for him when Yangyang turns to look through a break in the crowd and makes eye contact with him, and Renjun's breath catches at the way his face completely lights up with relief and recognition.

"Hey, hi—" Yangyang calls, waving his arm frantically.

Renjun feels his face flame up with heat as multiple heads turn to look at him all at once, and he forces himself to wave back awkwardly. All his hopes that this would be a momentary distraction soon dissipate the moment Yangyang extricates himself from the crowd of screaming girls, pushing his way through the people towards Renjun's safe little bench.

"What are you doing—" Renjun blurts out. "They're all coming over here—"

Yangyang glances over his shoulder at the crowd slowly converging behind him. "Oh my god, sorry—"

Before Renjun has any chance to react, Yangyang's slipping away again, dragging the screaming girls and his mass coccoon of fans away from him. Renjun stands there, mildly dumbstruck by everything that just happened. Did Yangyang really think that he was just going to rendevouz _here_ of all places, in front of hundreds of spectators and fans?

An hand grabs his arm, and Renjun only realizes that it's Donghyuck about two seconds before sending his elbow into Donghyuck's nose.

" _Stop_ , what the fuck was that?" Donghyuck demands, jerking his head at the retreating crowd surrounding both Yangyang and Taeyong. "I saw Liu Yangyang waving at you. Are you two friends or something?"

Renjun rubs his bicep where Donghyuck had grabbed him, frowning. "I don't know. I'm not really sure what he was doing."

"Renjun, I saw him looking at you—clearly, you know him or met him somewhere," Donghyuck says, exasperated. "It's okay to root for him, you know—we all have favorites—"

"I don't play favorites," Renjun snaps, trying to unsuccessfully shove Donghyuck away, but it's difficult because Donghyuck is always exceptionally clingy after a few drinks. "And Yangyang is not my friend. He's a Formula One driver, and I'm a writer."

Donghyuck purses his lips for a moment before looping his arm gently through Renjun's. "You're really frustrating when you don't let yourself enjoy things, you know that?"

A hot wave of guilt washes through Renjun's stomach, and he uses his leverage on Donghyuck's arm to start yanking back towards the end of the street. "It's getting late," he mutters, very pointedly ignoring the look Donghyuck is sending him. "Qualifying is tomorrow, and you need to be up early."

Donghyuck sighs, letting Renjun pull him along for a few moments before eventually falling into step alongside him. "One day, Renjun," he tells him. "You will learn that you can want things for yourself."

And Renjun loves Donghyuck with all his heart, he truly does, but this is where Donghyuck is wrong. Because Renjun has _only_ ever wanted things for himself—things he can't begin to justify or explain. And he's learned that wanting something won't always mean that he'll get it, or that getting it won't always make it the right choice. Renjun has always wanted for himself—selfishly, shamelessly. But reaching out for those things, or trying to make smaller his heart is what he still needs to learn, one hairline fracture at a time.

_July 27th, 2019  
Hockenheimring, Hockenheim, Germany_

"I can't believe it—" Renjun can barely hear as Donghyuck's stunned voice filters in through the pouring sound of rain and cheering. He's standing just a few feet away from Donghyuck, furiously trying to cover his camcorder lens and hold his umbrella at the same time. "After holding the lead for the last three laps, Na Jaemin of Team McLaren has just crashed—at the exact same spot where Red Bull's Wong Yukhei went careening off the track, even—this is proving to be a very dangerous qualifying Saturday indeed—"

Renjun wipes his face with the sleeve of his parka, though with it completely soaked through, it doesn't make much of a difference. It hasn't stopped raining since early that morning, when the sky opened up with a vengeance. Na Jaemin's crash would make the third one today, not even halfway through. Renjun isn't paying attention to Na Jaemin, however, trying to keep his hand steady as he follows the movements of a specific Mercedes car in the middle of the pack.

Liu Yangyang had started second, behind pole position Wong Yukhei, but he'd quickly dropped to the middle of the grid as the rain wrecked havoc for all drivers. Renjun hasn't taken his eyes off Yangyang's vehicle all race, watching as the charcoal and blue streaked chassis expertly navigated the rain-slick turns of the race.

Donghyuck continues to rattle off about the race, his raincoat making a tremendously little effort to keep him from getting wet, but his enthusiasm never falters. The Chosun Ilbo camera crew keeps soldiering on bravely through the rain, Donghyuck providing commentary on the exciting race in front of them.

Renjun watches as Yangyang pulls over to make a pit stop, getting his tyres switched out for soft ones, following the other drivers who had done the same that lap. Renjun feels his mouth pull downwards into a frown, and he's not sure why he's feeling so disappointed. After watching him in Shanghai, Yangyang's driving is markedly more conservative than usual. Of course, the rain is to blame for that, but Yangyang didn't strike Renjun as the kind of driver who would let weather stop him.

He is just about to turn his camera onto Mark Lee from Team Haas, when a loud screeching sound has him snapping back over to Yangyang, who had just lost control of his vehicle, spinning a complete 360. Renjun drops his umbrella to grip his camcorder with both hands, but it doesn't matter anyway because the rain had finally stopped. Yangyang's car narrowly misses the barrier, finally regaining control of his car, entering behind the main pack.

"What the fuck are you doing," Renjun mutters under his breath, following Yangyang's pursuits with his camera as the Mercedes car tries to speed up and overtake the cars in front of him. Something mixes with the trepidation in his stomach, and Renjun realizes that it might be something like awe.

> _**Liu Yangyang continues to leave doubt for Mercedes in Germany  
>  **_29 July, 2019 — Hockenheim, Germany  
>  by Huang Renjun
> 
> After a precarious season so far for Team Mercedes' newest acquisition Liu Yangyang, 21, from Taiwan, Liu's rocky performance in Hockenheim still has many questioning the change to Mercedes' formally all-star team roster. Despite finishing in P-7, Liu's inconsistency during today's race has only deepened the doubt that has followed him since his horrific collisions in Monte Carlo and Shanghai earlier this season.
> 
> The victory of Liu's teammate Lee Taeyong today concluded what proved to be a dramatic and eventful race made even more exciting by the torrential downfall that only let up around the twentieth lap....

With Hockenheim done, Renjun readies himself to go back home, to his normal life of making lattes at Angel-In-Us and tutoring high school student Park Sungwon in English writing. His jobs keep him busy—too busy to think about things like Formula One, or the steadily increasing hit counts on his website, or the way that Liu Yangyang's eyes glow like stadium lights in the dark.

But before he can leave, Donghyuck insists on dragging him to one last post-event mixer for drivers, teams, and press. Renjun finds himself the following Monday elbow to elbow with Ferrari's Zhong Chenle, watching helplessly as Donghyuck trails after Haas driver Mark Lee.

"Hi," Chenle says, giving him a broad smile. His eyes crescent up pleasantly. "I've heard about you."

Renjun pulls his hand back, raising an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that."

"You wrote that viral article about Liu Yangyang, right?" Chenle takes Renjun's glass, fills it in sparkling water. "I read it. It was pretty damn good."

Somehow, the compliment doesn't seem quite appropriate for the situation, Renjun taking the glass that Chenle passes him and giving him a look. "Thank you, I guess? I never intended for it to go viral."

Chenle waves his hand idly. "I know, that's why I liked it so much. I could use someone like you on my publicity team. Someone with a fresh, genuine voice."

Renjun almost chokes on his sparkling water. "I—excuse me?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at Chenle, trying to find any inkling in his face that he might be kidding. He finds none. "You want me to write _for_ you?"

"Sure, why not? You'd be perfect at it—" Chenle loops an arm around Renjun's shoulders that Renjun is too late to shrug off. "I mean, you're already doing half the work for me by writing all those insane things about Liu Yangyang and Mercedes, I'm surprised you haven't been served a C&D yet—"

"I—" Renjun ducks out from under Chenle's arm. "I'm not just some lackey who you can just pay to write things—I write what _I_ think is the truth _—_ Mercedes _is_ getting a lot of flack right now—Liu Yangyang is probably the biggest risk factor they've ever played."

Renjun cuts himself off the moment he sees Chenle grinning, and bites back down on another acidic comment. "Why are you laughing?"

Chenle smirks. "See, this is why I like you. Can I expect more hot takes from you in Hungary?

Renjun crosses his arms, flushing hot across his nose. "I'm not going to Hungary."

"Really?"

A new voice has Renjun and Chenle both turning to see Yangyang standing there, looking between the two of them with giant eyes.

"You're not going to watch in Hungary?"

"I—" Renjun begins stiffly, and tries desperately to avoid looking Chenle in the eye. "I only really have enough in my budget for Hockenheim. That's it."

"Huh. Pity." Chenle gives an exaggerated shrug. "See, I pay my publicity team quite handsomely. We would've sponsored your costs for the rest of the season."

Renjun's face grows hotter as Yangyang turns to look at him, those bright eyes of his round and full of questions. Yangyang shoves his hands into his pockets, offering up a nervous smile.

"I'm sorry to hear you're not going to the rest of the stops," he says, in a voice that is surprisingly soft. "I was really looking forward to see what else you would've written about me."

Renjun scoffs, setting down his glass. "Let me make one thing clear. I'm not writing about you just to prove a point. I write about you because you're a smudge on the face of one the industry's biggest competitive teams, and you haven't done anything to prove me wrong yet."

He only gets a second to stare at Yangyang's shocked face before turning on his heel and stalking off. He doesn't get very far before Donghyuck sidles up to him to pull him aside.

"Stop," Donghyuck tells him very seriously before Renjun can even open his mouth. "I heard everything. Huang Renjun, you are such a fucking idiot."

Renjun lets out a noisy breath, putting his face into his hands. "God, please shut up—"

"Zhong Chenle? Of Team Ferrari?" Donghyuck's grip on his shoulders is almost tight enough to be painful. "Renjun, what the fuck kind of a blockhead are you? You just turned down the best job offer of your life—"

"Will you stop?" Renjun hisses. "Fuck, you all seem to think that I'm a huge sell out or something—"

"There's really only one thing you can do now—keep writing about Liu Yangyang. That's your selling point. People are waiting for what you have to say next."

"I can't afford to keep going to these things, Donghyuck—I already sucked most of my savings dry trying to meet you here—"

"Well?" Donghyuck asks him, elegant brows drawing together. "Was it worth it?"

Renjun meets Donghyuck's heavy gaze with one of his own, and he swallows. "Yes," he says. "Yes, it was worth it."

"Then you need to find a way to do it again."

"I—I can't, Donghyuck—isn't Hungary already out of press packages?"

"Yes, and so is Belgium. But you could still do Italy. I don't mind sharing my hotel with you again in Monza, Renjun, but you've got to scrape together the funds to fly."

"Monza? Christ—Donghyuck, that's in two months—how am I gonna make that happen?"

"Renjun, I'm sure there's someone you can ask for help."

Renjun bites his lip, and thinks, guiltily, that maybe Donghyuck is right.

Renjun's apartment in Sinchon is small and cramped—more officetel than anything else—but it's enough for him. Renjun hardly has people over, but that's just fine because Jeno's undergrad mentor turned friend turned crush Doyoung is generous enough to consistently ask Jeno to bring Renjun along when they make plans. Renjun isn't sure if this has worked out in Jeno's best favor or not, but is never one to turn down free food.

He lets his duffle fall to the floor, plopping down on his futon bed with a sigh. Already, Hockenheim feels like a lifetime ago, even though it's been barely twenty four hours since he last saw Liu Yangyang.

And that's where it should have ended, too, had it not been for Donghyuck's urging for Renjun to meet him in Italy, two months from now.

Making that insane, absurd decision, surprisingly, was the easy part. The hard part now—Renjun pulls out his phone, biting his lip, and calls Jeno.

"Renjun?" The sound of Jeno's gentle, easy baritone has Renjun relaxing immediately, though part of him is still tense at the prospect of this call. "Wow—hang on—"

The background noise dies away, and Renjun can hear the shuffle of Jeno's socked feet on carpet. "Are you back in Sinchon? How was Germany? When are you coming back to work?"

"It was great, I'm coming back on Wednesday, but I—" Renjun grips his phone, swallowing over the thick lump in his throat. "Jeno, I need to ask you a really big favor."

Renjun hears Jeno hum softly. "What kind of favor?"

The rush of blood to his head is so quick it leaves his head spinning. Renjun sits down, exhaling shakily. "Jeno, you know that I don't really ask you for a lot of things."

"I know, Injunnie," Jeno says patiently. In the background, Renjun can hear the muffled voice of someone else. "Hold on, hyung, I'm talking to Renjun—"

Renjun swallows again. "I feel like I shouldn't be asking you this."

Jeno laughs. "It's okay, I promise. What do you need?"

"I—" Renjun sucks in a deep breath. "I need to borrow money." The words leave him in a rush, and then they're out there in the open, ready to be struck down. For a painstaking moment, Jeno's response is only silence. And then—

"Oh—that's it?" Jeno's bemused tone pulls the rug out from under him completely. "You just need some money?"

"Not just _some_ money, Jeno," Renjun hisses, feeling his cheeks grow hot. "Like, a _lot_ of money—like five hundred thousand won—"

For whatever godforsaken reason, Jeno is still laughing. "You're so funny, Injunnie. Of course, no problem. How soon do you need it? Do you want me to LINE pay you?"

It takes about five seconds for Renjun to regain any sense of coherent speech. "Just like that? Jeno, I just asked you for—you're just going to give it to me—just like that?"

"Just like that," Jeno repeats, and Renjun doesn't need to see him to know that he's smiling that big, dopey smile of his. "It's like you said—you never ask for much from me. And—whatever it's for—it's probably for a good reason."

Renjun runs his fingers through his hair. "You have too much faith in me, Lee Jeno. I—yeah, LINE pay would be good—"

"I'll send it over in about twenty minutes," Jeno promises. "I have to go help Doyoung-hyung with dinner."

"Are you two a thing yet?" Renjun asks crossly.

He hears Jeno drop something and swear, and Renjun rolls his eyes. "Uh," Jeno says. "So how's your writing going—

"Ugh, never mind." Balancing his phone between his shoulder and cheek, Renjun pulls up a new tab on his iPad, scrolling through lists of flights to Italy. "Just—Jeno, thanks."

"I know how much this means to you, Renjun. You never do anything for yourself. I hope you get to meet some amazing people."

"Yeah," Renjun says, smiling just a little. Maybe he already has.

_September 8th, 2019_  
_Autodromo Nazionale, Monza, Italy_

"Donghyuck, I really don't think you should keep dragging me back here," Renjun hisses, failing miserably to shake off Donghyuck's grip on his arm as Donghyuck leads him down into the Paddock. "You could lose your press access—"

"You're too fussy," Donghyuck interrupts, shoving a lanyard over his head and shoving him in the general direction of the pit garages. "I have to go do something with Will Buxton, but you need to recognize a gift when I give it to you, Renjun."

Renjun sighs immensely, shoving his hands in his pockets as Donghyuck scurries off alongside the Chosun Ilbo crew, and takes a tentative step towards the small crowd of press reporters gathering around the drivers and teams. In the middle of the group, Yangyang makes eye contact and lights up immediately.

"You made it—" Yangyang calls happily and squeezes his way past two reporters trying to get at Lee Taeyong. The top row of his teeth dig into his bottom lip. He shifts his weight back and forth from his feet, glancing up at Renjun expectantly. "I thought—"

"I scraped something together in the end," Renjun says, cutting Yangyang off before he can finish his sentence. He doesn't want to hear Yangyang talk about his financial problems like he knew how he felt. Guilt blooms in his stomach like hot oil at the thought of paying back Jeno. He'd probably have to pick up double the shifts when he gets back.

Yangyang is about to say something else when a delighted cheer causes them both to turn.

"Excellent to see you here!" Chenle says, beaming. "I'll be honest, I was disappointed to not see you in Hungary—have you given any thought to my offer? It still stands—"

Renjun shakes his head curtly. "Um, not really, but no thanks—"

Chenle sighs. "Well, it's just as well—I already hired someone else." Seemingly out of thin air, Chenle procures a tall, lanky young man. "This is the newest member of my publicity team, Park Jisung. Poached him from ESPN Korea."

All at once, an icy cold floods the pit of Renjun's stomach, staring very hard at the young man Chenle has his arm wrapped around. "Not officially—" Jisung is making a very pained face. "I'm still working for them—"

"You're at ESPN Korea?" Renjun blurts out, and everyone turns to look at him.

Jisung flushes. He has such a young face. Couldn't be older than twenty. "I—I just got hired in July."

Renjun doesn't know what to say. The weight of his previous three rejections from ESPN slaps him wholly in the face. He'd tried so many times to get into their sports writing department, but every single time he never made it past the first interview.

"Hey," Yangyang is saying, stepping in close. His elbow presses up gently against Renjun's side. "Are you okay?"

Renjun swallows, forcing a stiff smile at Chenle and his newest lackey, before turning back to Yangyang. "You have someone who wants to take your photo," Renjun says flatly, gesturing at the photographer waiting patiently outside of their circle. 

A series of expressions cycle rapidly across Yangyang's face as he watches Renjun step backwards. The last one might have been wistfulness. He's not entirely sure.

As the cameras go off in front of him, Renjun can't quite shake the nagging feeling that someone is watching him, someone other than the photographers currently trying to get in to take photos of Yangyang and Chenle.

He whirls around, and there is a woman standing at the edge of the crowd, the red lacquer of her nails shining in the flashing lights, lips pursed in thought. Renjun was right—she is watching him. And when he leaves the tight cluster of drivers and press, he can see her following him. Renjun stops to let her catch up and clears his throat.

"Can I help you with anything?"

The woman reveals very white teeth. "I'm Irene Bae. I work for _The Athletic_."

Renjun crosses his arms, following Irene over to the side of the room. "Never heard of it."

Irene's smile doesn't falter. "We're a subscription-based media outlet that primarily follows sports. At the moment we're only based in the United States and Canada, but we were thinking of expanding to Asia."

Renjun raises an eyebrow. "Okay? What does that have to do with me?"

"Well, you're pretty hot right now in the motor journalism industry," Irene says, tapping one gleaming red nail against her chin. "I've read some of the things you've been writing about Mercedes. Pretty bold claims, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well—" Renjun rubs the back of his neck. "It hasn't really made me that popular with a lot of the big outlets, to be honest."

Irene's smile widens. "No love from ESPN, huh?"

An angry wave of heat shoots across Renjun's face. "No," he grits out. "No, not really."

Irene reaches into the confines of her beaded clutch purse and pulls out a business card. "I think your writing has an evocative voice. It's not the kind of style that would suit a larger corporation like ESPN or Sports Illustrated."

Renjun takes the card cautiously, turning it over in his fingers. A stark white matte card stock, printed in blocky, minimalistic letters— _The Athletic_. It doesn't take long to put two and two together. "You want me to write for you," he says carefully. It is not a question.

"I think you'll find that you'll enjoy the freedom that we afford our writers," Irene tells him. "We're not huge. Not like ESPN, no. But we value a commitment to honesty. Not just what makes money. And you—you have the kind of voice we're looking for."

Renjun stares at Irene, her neatly-pressed blazer and velvety red mouth. He can hear the things she's telling him, but somehow it's not quite equating. Against his will, the iron-plated scales of his armor are already shifting into defensive position, protecting the soft parts of himself that Renjun doesn't like to acknowledge exist en masse. He's already steeling himself against something he doesn't even yet know is a lie, something that could very well be true—if he only just let himself stop for a moment to believe it.

Irene watches him quietly, her eyes going dark and thoughtful. "You don't need to give me an answer right away," she says, lips curling up in a small and secretive smile. "Just think about it. I'm sure you'll be around."

Renjun licks his hips. "Okay," he says, his voice coming out much hoarser than he'd expected. "Okay, thanks."

"Take care, Huang Renjun," Irene says, giving him one last smile. "I look forward to reading everything that you write."

And, as Irene walks away, Renjun stares after her slowly retreating back, holding more questions than answers in his hands. No sooner does she vanish from sight does Donghyuck come up behind him, looping an arm through his.

"So that looked like it went quite well," Donghyuck trills, laying his head on Renjun's shoulder. He pauses, peering down at the business card in Renjun's hand. "What's that? You got a hot number?"

Renjun's lips press together, and he shakes his head quickly. "It's nothing," he says, deftly shoving Irene's business card into his pocket and shaking Donghyuck off from his arm. "Can we get going now?"

Donghyuck yanks Renjun back by the neck of his jacket as he tries to make off without him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Renjun scowls and rubs his throat. "Back to the hotel?"

"Oh, Renjun—" Renjun absolutely _hates_ when Donghyuck gets that tone. Sickly sweet, patronizing, and exactly three words away from Renjun punching him in the face. "You know that's not an option, right?"

Renjun crosses his arms, hoping that Donghyuck is aptly receiving every type of sharp and blunt-ended object Renjun can dream up in his glare right now, but Donghyuck only _tsk_ s and turns him around.

"I forgot you didn't come out with us in Shanghai, and Hockenheim is so boring by F1 standards. But tonight, I'll make sure you get to have some fun."

"Donghyuck," Renjun begins, exasperated. "Did it ever occur to you ever that, at some point, I need to sleep?"

"You're coming out tonight," Donghyuck says, and something in his voice has Renjun shutting his mouth before he can argue another word about it. "Though, maybe—" Donghyuck glances Renjun up and down. "We should stop by to change."

"I have nothing to wear," Renjun says dryly.

Donghyuck's lip curls up. "I do like your thinking, but it's not that kind of party," he says, all but shoving Renjun into the next cab. "Luckily, you're smaller than me so my clothes will just fit looser on you."

Renjun doesn't even have a comeback for that, deciding that it is much more worth his time and energy to just let Donghyuck do what he wants. If he gets lucky, Donghyuck will get them back before three in the morning.

"Donghyuck, hold on—" Renjun says, almost an hour later when they're pulling up to a sleek high rise of a building. There's a small crowd of people outside the entrance being filtered through by an intimidating-looking bouncer. A sign that reads _PRIVATE EVENT - GUEST LIST ONLY_ stands next to him. "This thing looks really exclusive."

"Uh, yeah," Donghyuck says, raising his eyebrows at him. "Your point?"

Renjun has no answer as he watches Donghyuck saunter up to the bouncer, showing him his press badge, and then promptly wave him over. Renjun isn't surprised in the least, following Donghyuck into the dimly-lit night club. Already, the thud of a bass presses in on his eardrums, reverberates through his ribcage. They're on the second floor of the club, an intricate railing giving way to an expansive view of the dance floor below them.

"How did you manage to get an in with this one, Donghyuck?" Renjun mutters under his breath. "Do I even want to know?"

Donghyuck gives him a plaintive look. "Who the fuck do you think I am, Renjun?" is all he says, before slipping in between two impeccably-dressed staff and pushing forward.

"Where are you going?" Renjun hisses, but Donghyuck is already lost to the crowd. Heat crawling up the back of his neck, Renjun walks up to the railing, drumming his fingers impatiently on the metal, before flagging down a staff for a cocktail. As he sips, Renjun watches the pulsating crowd below, eventually spotting Donghyuck's unmistakeable profile pushing through the bodies, no doubt chasing after someone. Renjun's lips quirk up in a smile.

Someone clears their throat next to him, and Renjun glances over to see McLaren's Na Jaemin leaning against the railing with his arms crossed.

Jaemin gives him a winning smile and nods at Renjun's glass. "I can get you another one, if you want."

Renjun stiffens, and struggles to force down the scowl threatening to take over his face. "No thanks," he says dryly.

Jaemin doesn't seem undeterred in the slightest. "I've seen you around. You're that one writer with the crazy viral following. Writing some stuff about Liu Yangyang and Mercedes."

Renjun stirs the straw in his glass, dislike slowly brewing in his stomach. Everything about Na Jaemin from his icy blond bleached hair to the way he's leaning up against the table has all of Renjun's guard going up in iron buttresses. "What about it?"

Jaemin's face breaks out into a smile. Like Yangyang, he has an unholy amount of teeth. Like Yangyang, his smile is perfect. Flawless. Unlike Yangyang, however, Jaemin's presence is only annoying Renjun more and more by the second.

"You should come by the after-party tonight. Amber Lounge is for drivers and crew only. No press allowed." Jaemin shifts, turns his body to angle towards him. All open-book trust, is what he's trying to sell. Renjun knows his type. He knows it all too well.

Renjun sets down his glass with a loud clink, and meets Jaemin's gaze head on. "I'm not interested in going to your after-party, sorry." He does little to hide his irritation, and Jaemin notices, his expression immediately darkening before he stalks off.

Renjun hears a small laugh behind him, and Renjun stiffens. He is truly not in the mood for this, would rather go unnoticed for the rest of the night, but Liu Yangyang is there in Na Jaemin's place, and—despite everything—Renjun is relaxing. Just a little.

Yangyang is hardly dressed for the slick Milan scene—his racing jacket pulled over a black t-shirt and jeans. Renjun raises an eyebrow at him and the soda that he's holding.

"No drinks for you?"

Yangyang's smile spreads out slowly, sweetly. "I don't really drink," he says, shy. "Alcohol makes me sleepy."

"You could hardly get sleepy with all this ruckus," Renjun says, gesturing at the dance floor below them.

"You'd be surprised—" Yangyang sidles up to join him at the railing, leaning on his forearms. "I can fall asleep anywhere."

Renjun presses his lips together. He'd had already seen the other drivers enter earlier that night—Wong Yukhei with his tight pants and button down shirts and Na Jaemin's wrists glittering with Daniel Wellington. The stark white of Yangyang's Mercedes-emblazoned jacket—on the other hand—makes him look so strangely out of place, as if he stepped directly off the track into the night lounge.

"So," Yangyang starts, drawing in a breath. He's wearing that same silly, nervous smile—the one he always has during press conferences. Renjun would know; he's watched almost every single one. "I—majorly sucked today, huh?"

Renjun frowns. "Uh—" And, really, he should have been expecting this. Even after the scathing article Renjun had written about him in Shanghai had failed to get under Yangyang's skin, Renjun should have known. "Should I be saying yes?"

"Say whatever you think!" Yangyang's smile is far too wide and eager for someone who is about to be picked apart like a carcass left for the vultures. "I'm interested in what you think. That's why I read your articles.."

Despite himself, Renjun feels a rush of heat flood his face. "I—I don't really feel like discussing that with you, sorry."

Yangyang scratches the back of his head. "Oh—sorry. I guess it wasn't one of my better races. You're not mad, are you?"

Renjun lets out a heavy sigh. "To be honest—" he begins, pushing back from the railing. "I really don't want to be here. I'd rather be back at my hotel."

It's hard to not let the falter in Yangyang's smile lodge something tight and inexplicable in between his ribs, even as Yangyang bites his lip and takes a defeated step back. "Oh—" he's saying. "Oh, okay. That's fine—"

He's not sure what makes him does it, whether it's the quiet and easy way that Yangyang accepts so much of him, without expectation, without pressure, that has Renjun hesitating, one step from walking away from him. He glances back.

"Do you—" Renjun begins, feeling incredibly stupid. This isn't something that people like him do—he is a writer in his fifteen seconds of fame, and Yangyang belongs to one of the most prestigious racing teams in the industry. He doesn't do these things, just as Yangyang doesn't do these things. "Do you want to, maybe—"

"Come?" Yangyang blurts out, breathless. The way his eyes light up, almost child-like in their fervor, tightens the knot between his ribs. "Yeah, can I?"

Renjun lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical. " _Can_ you? Shit, Liu, I don't know, I'm not the Formula One driver here—"

But Yangyang is already leading him out of the club, fingers wrapped around his wrist. Renjun can't process his excitement, the eagerness to leave, when his entire lifestyle is behind them, in the glitz and the glamour of the sumptuous night club. He glances behind him, thinking briefly about Donghyuck, but decides to not worry about him. If there's one thing he's certain of, it's that Donghyuck always gets on alright without him.

They take a cab back to the hotel that Renjun is once again sharing with Donghyuck, and Renjun has to suppress a smile at Yangyang openly marveling at the hotel lobby.

"I'm sure you've seen more impressive accommodations," Renjun says, but Yangyang shakes his head, craning his neck to examine the ceiling.

"All the teams are staying in Monza, so this is all new to me. You're staying here?"

Renjun swallows. "Not—exactly. I'm staying with a friend."

Yangyang turns to look at him curiously, but he doesn't say anything else, instead following Renjun up the elevator to his room. Renjun lets Yangyang in, and Yangyang doesn't waste any time in throwing himself onto the fluffy duvet.

"There's only one bed," Yangyang observes, bouncing slightly on the bed.

Renjun flushes. "Like I said, I'm staying with a friend."

Yangyang cocks his head. "Just a friend?" His tone is light, but Renjun doesn't miss the serious undertone that belies his words. It's strange to hear Yangyang like this, uncertain in himself, voice betraying his age. Yangyang is not that much younger than him, Renjun knows, having looked him up on the internet long before the Chinese Grand Prix, long before any of this was set into motion. His first impressions of Yangyang had been that he was just a kid who'd grown up with the money to make things happen, to make cars go fast and cameras appear out of thin air and problems disappear just as quick. Renjun had thought that Yangyang was just another product of the culture that produced only legend after legend, just another rich boy whose only way to push the envelope was to do it in a Mercedes AMG F1 W10 EQ Power+ racing car.

Renjun was completely wrong. Yangyang had shucked his shoes to cross his skinny legs on top of the hotel bed, perusing with great interest one of the hotel room service menus. His eyes move back and forth as he reads, and Renjun remembers that Yangyang, too, is just his age. He isn't immortal, he isn't invincible.

"Just a friend, yes," Renjun says flatly, before turning away. He doesn't want to think about the implications of that question, of what it meant for Yangyang to be asking. And, when he turns back over his shoulder, Yangyang is still looking at him. Holds his gaze, smiles.

He raises the menu. "Want anything?" Just like that, so easy, so simple. Nothing complicated. How was it that Yangyang could be content with this, when Renjun's trained himself to question every single answer he's ever gotten for his whole life?

Renjun swallows. "If you order anything, you have to pay for it," he says. The words come out quieter than he meant them to. He wonder what Donghyuck would think later, when Renjun tells him that Liu Yangyang from Team Mercedes was in their hotel room, sitting on their bed, right on top of where Donghyuck sleeps.

Yangyang laughs, tossing the menu aside, and shimmies forward to the edge of the bed to let his socked feet touch the carpet. Renjun forces himself to remain rooted to his spot, looking Yangyang in the eye.

"I saw you," Renjun says, sudden and quiet. "When I first landed in Mannheim. You were street racing."

Yangyang holds his gaze for a moment before looking away, his lip corners curling up ever so slightly. "I was just so bored," he says, in a voice that is just as quiet. "I know how that sounds—an F1 driver, bored. But I just wanted to get out—do something. Something just for myself, you know what I mean?"

Renjun doesn't. Not quite, he thinks. He's always done everything for himself, even when it's cost him more than what it's worth. Renjun knows what it's like to be selfish, to shamelessly want what he could not have. When he left his home in Jilin to study at Seoul National, he was selfish. When he turned down a job offer with his cousin's workplace, he was selfish. Having Yangyang here in his room in Milan, three feet away and not on the other side of a screen—there's some selfish part to it that Renjun can't quite explain. Not to himself, not to Yangyang, not to anyone. 

But Yangyang is so close now, close enough to touch. Renjun blinks once, slow, and sees the face of a young man—barely past boyhood—with breakouts all along his hairline and the side of his jaw, eyes bright like the evening skyline of Seoul in the summer, like the stadium lights of the Shanghai International Circuit, like a lone pair of headlights zooming down a street in Mannheim past midnight. Renjun catches his breath, letting himself—for a moment—believe that this is something he could have without any retribution, without regret. That it's okay to want, to yearn for something worth having.

Yangyang leans in closer, and Renjun's hand comes up to circle around his bicep, Yangyang's jacket crunching softly underneath his fingers, the stiff sewn badge of the Mercedes logo cutting hard angles into his palm, and Renjun lets his breath go. Swallows. Sits back.

"What are you doing," Renjun says, hating the way that his voice comes out shaky. Yangyang's eyes have gone wide, round with anxiety, and he's sitting back too.

"I—" Yangyang licks his lips, pulling his hands back like he'd been scalded, like Renjun's rejection had taken something physical out of him. "I—I'm so sorry—"

Renjun swings his legs over the side of the bed to stand up, running his hands through his hair. "Do you think that sleeping with me will get me to change the things I say about you?"

Yangyang raises his hands in defense, brows furrowing deeply. The look in his eyes is still far too much to parse at this moment in time, the way that hurt and confusion mix together. Not now while Renjun can hardly hear himself think over the pounding thud of blood in his ears. "I'm not trying to sl—" Yangyang flushes a deep, dark scarlet. "That's not what I'm trying to do, I swear—"

Renjun turns around to glare at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest, as if the extra barrier will keep his heart from beating a tattoo out against his ribs. "What are you trying to do, then? Why do you keep following me around, seeking me out? You're a celebrity, a superstar—that's not what people like you do—"

"Why—why can't I?" Yangyang says, every syllable trembling with tangible confusion, this particular brand of hurt and confusion so tender and aching that Renjun can barely look at him for more than a few seconds of a time. "Renjun, I like you—you're—"

"You hardly know me," Renjun snaps. And maybe this is really the crux of it, the hidden insecurity that he's built into a box, that it's all because Yangyang hardly knows him. That—the moment he does—everything would change. "We've met like—what—four or five times. I watch you race. That doesn't mean I know you. You read my articles. You definitely don't know me."

The silence that follows is all too pregnant, swollen and tender like a bruise that keeps getting hit over and over again. Yangyang's lower lip trembles, and he bites down. "I—okay, yeah. I don't really know you, but—I've read the things you've written." Yangyang looks up to make eye contact with him, and Renjun stiffens under the hot, searing brand of his gaze. "You're right. You don't really know me, but you write like you do."

Renjun feels the small of his back make contact with the edge of the desk, and his fingers curl vice-like around the edge. "What are you talking about?" he hisses. "I'm just a nobody writer trying to do my job. I got lucky a couple of times. That's it."

"But that's not it," Yangyang insists, eyes shining taking a step forward. "You—god, do you know what it's like to be at Mercedes—everyone's kissing your ass all the time, and no one's ever got the balls to really tell it like it is because they're all scared shitless of Mercedes—but you don't care about any of that—"

"Is that supposed to be an achievement?" Renjun snaps. His voice is getting louder and louder in the ringing silence, and Yangyang looks so very small, almost swallowed by his jacket. Stark Mercedes white, but Renjun is seeing red. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm going to post this article about you tonight, and then tomorrow I'm flying back to Seoul, where I work as a waiter in a cafe and an English tutor at a private academy. That's my life, Yangyang. Not this."

Yangyang stares at him, wringing his wrists with such intensity that Renjun is almost sure he's going to pull his hands right off. "I just—you're so talented, you know—and it's so clear that you love this so much—"

Renjun lets out a hollow, bitter laugh. Of course Yangyang can talk about things like doing what you love and talent when he's driving for one of the best Formula One teams in the world. "I've learned that only a few can make money while doing what they love. You're one of them. I'm not."

Yangyang is biting down on his lip so hard Renjun thinks he might draw blood, before shoving his hand into his pocket suddenly. "I—I was going to give this to you," he says, quiet and uncertain, and pulls out a lanyard. "You're really not coming to Singapore?"

Renjun turns away. "I don't really have any means to keep this up through Singapore."

Yangyang swallows, loud in the silence, and holds his hand out. "Please, take this anyway."

Renjun reaches out to take the lanyard, and stares down at the print on the glossy, laminated badge— _PADDOCK CLUB ALL-ACCESS: Huang, Renjun_ —before looking back up at Yangyang to give him a stiff smile. "I am not so easily bought off, Liu Yangyang."

And Renjun doesn't know what it was that he said, but that's enough to make Yangyang's face crumple. "I'm not—" Yangyang swallows, closes his mouth. His eyes are shining. "Okay," he says, defeat resonating clear in his voice. "Okay, I'll just go—"

Renjun watches Yangyang pull his shoes on in a haste to leave, then the door slams shut. He looks down at the lanyard in his hand, and draws a deep breath.

> _**Mercedes calls today's race in Monza 'positively dismal'  
>  **_8 September, 2019 — Monza, Italy  
>  by Huang Renjun
> 
> Once again, longtime fans of the Mercedes F1 racing team have been let down after an extremely disappointing performance from their newest driver, Liu Yangyang from Taiwan. As Mercedes continues to struggle in the 2019 season, Haas celebrated a historic first ever win with Mark Lee. This will be the first time Haas has ever taken the podium, let alone a first place finish.
> 
> Liu's performance today in the Italian Grand Prix came as no surprise, as his attempt to overtake his Mercedes teammate Lee Taeyong caused them both to collide about halfway through the race, and Liu received a 10-second penalty. After flubbing his pit stops, Liu finished 12th in the final rankings, with the podium being held by Haas' Mark Lee, Ferrari's Zhong Chenle, and McLaren's Na Jaemin...

_Sinchon, Seoul, South Korea_

Renjun isn't surprised to see Doyoung when he walks in, hovering awkwardly around the counter despite the fact that they're not yet open.

"Hi hyung," he says, barely even acknowledging the jolt of surprise that this sends through Doyoung, and ducks behind the counter.

Jeno is in the stock room just as Renjun suspected, rummaging through bags of sugar and sweeteners.

"Want to tell me why your boyfriend's in here before opening?" Renjun asks.

Jeno promptly drops three of his boxes, whipping around. "God, you scared me," he breathes, stooping to pick them up. "I thought you didn't come in until later?"

Renjun rolls his eyes, grabbing his apron. "I switched shifts with Yongha-hyung."

Jeno bites his lip, watching Renjun pick up other items needed for the front. "Please don't say anything about Doyoung-hyung. It's only been a couple of times, I swear—"

"Relax," Renjun mutters, sweeping past him to the front register. "I won't rat you out."

He can hear Jeno shuffling up behind him but tries to focus on logging into their computer system instead. It doesn't work, because he hears Jeno sigh.

"Renjun, what's going on?"

Renjun ignores him, keys in the passcode for the register. Denied again. "Who changed the passcode? I can't log in."

Jeno leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Renjun, you're avoiding the topic."

Renjun turns to stare him dead in the eyes. "Jeno. The passcode."

Jeno bites his lip for a second, before the fight leaves his body. "Twenty-two zero seven," he says. "Junseo changed it while you were in Italy."

Renjun doesn't say anything else as he logs into the system, the Angel-In-Us logo appearing briefly on the screen before the point of sale home comes up. Jeno doesn't move from his spot.

"Renjun," he says quietly. "You never take morning shifts. Like, ever. And I know you like to overwork yourself when you get stressed. What's going on?"

Renjun swallows slowly. Takes his time. "I don't want to talk about it." He doesn't expect Jeno to understand. A job like this is only temporary for Jeno, something to pay the bills while he's putting himself through post-grad. Jeno doesn't understand what it's like to only have this to truly rely on, that making lattes puts money in his bank. Editing English papers for high school students pays his credit cards. Writing about car races, flying all over the world, meeting enigmatic, frustrating, intriguing drivers doesn't.

Jeno heaves a heavy sigh. "Okay," he says, all resignation in his voice. "When you're ready, I'm here."

And Renjun doesn't doubt that, barely registering Jeno going around the front to converse with Doyoung in low, hushed tones, the briefest seconds of Jeno leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. Renjun doesn't watch.

His shift ends four hours later with Renjun shrugging off his apron and taking the next bus into Jamsil for a home tutoring session.

Sungwon's mother greets him at the door with a tray full of steaming hot tea, and Renjun hurriedly takes a cup as he follows Sungwon into his room for their week's lesson.

"We have to write an essay about _aspiration_ ," Sungwon says, his mouth clumsy and awkward around the last word, English syllables still too rounded on his tongue.

"Oh yeah?" Renjun smooths down the creases in his pants and sits, cross-legged, across from him. "Do you have aspirations, Sungwonnie?"

"Hmm." The tip of Sungwon's pencil taps against his teeth as he scrunches his face up in thought. "I—" Sungwon bites his lip, flushing slightly. "Actually, never mind. You'll think it's stupid."

Renjun raises an eyebrow playfully. "Try me."

Sungwon closes his hand around his pencil, grip going white knuckled. "I—I want to be a rapper."

"A rapper?" Renjun repeats, Sungwon's sudden shyness softening his surprise. "Like, an idol rapper?"

"Something kinda like that," Sungwon mumbles, looking down at this paper. "I just—" He glances up at him, then at his bedroom door behind him. "Don't tell my mom—I write songs, sometimes. Do you—do you want to see?"

It's unnerving to him, just how willing and easy Sungwon is to open up parts of his soul, to bare to Renjun the kinds of things that Renjun would have taken to his grave. As a writer, Renjun's committed to a certain brand of honesty, of telling his truth without any filter to mar his words, But this is a different kind of honesty, one that Renjun's still learning how to use. Sungwon is still so young, but he's already got it down to an art. How to share little pieces of yourself with the world, and to know that they won't be any less part of you, any less yours.

"Of course," Renjun tells him, because that's what he had wanted to hear so very long ago. That someone wants to listen without a motive.

Sungwon passes over a notebook shyly, and Renjun thumbs through pages of messy handwriting. The songs are rough—lyrics still lacking the kind of depth that only ever comes with age—but they're good. They're a start.

"You should write about this," Renjun says firmly. "I think it would make a great topic for your essay. And I don't think it's stupid at all."

Sungwon beams at him, all gums and teeth, and Renjun feels like there might have been something to be gained.

"What about you, hyung?" Sungwon asks him later, as Renjun is collecting his things and putting them in his bag. He's watching him from his perch on his bed, the draft of his paper about seventy-five percent done on his laptop. "Do you have any aspirations?"

Renjun pauses in the doorway. "I did," he says slowly. "I don't know about now, though."

Sungwon scrunches his nose. "When you were off in Europe, I thought maybe you were doing something like that."

"That was just for fun," Renjun tells him. "Those trips are for my hobby. But working at a cafe, tutoring you—those are my jobs."

"Oh," Sungwon says, sounding—strangely—almost disappointed. "Well, what if you quit them?"

Renjun has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep himself upright in shock, his grip on his bag going white-knuckled. "Sungwonnie, are you saying you want a new tutor?"

Sungwon shakes his head so fast his bangs poof out in a halo around his face. "I like you a lot, hyung," he says quietly. "But, to me, you look really unhappy."

Renjun swallows, taking a small step back into Sungwon's bedroom, before reaching out to smooth a hand down the back of Sungwon's head. "Sometimes, you have to give up what you love. The things that make you happy."

Sungwon frowns a little. "I don't aspire to be unhappy."

And the smile that Renjun gives him then is bittersweet. "No one does. No one ever does."

As he takes the subway home, Renjun finds Sungwon's words replaying nonstop in his head, the innocence behind them— _you look unhappy_.

There's a lot that Renjun can say—with confidence—about himself, and being unhappy is not one of them. He's not unhappy. But maybe Sungwon is right. People don't aspire to be unhappy, but they don't aspire to be _not_ unhappy either. People aspire to fill notebooks with song lyrics, to dream of being an idol. They aspire to go to medical school, or to be a primetime news anchor. People aspire to see the world, to fall in love, to dream.

To write the things they want to say, and to be heard—even just by one person.

Renjun slumps down in his seat, swallowing thickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. And it's then that his palm curls around something small and rigid, and pulls it out. It's a business card.

For just a few moments, Renjun stares at the business card, at the elegant typeface adorning the front, and remembers Irene and her offer, her mysterious smile. _I'm sure you'll be around_ , she'd said. And Irene had sounded so very sure of that. He glances at the time. Sits up straight in his seat, a cathartic clarity filling him with resolution.

Maybe it could really be this simple. Maybe Renjun's life didn't always need to be a series of instances in which he needed to choose.

Maybe this time, Renjun thinks, he deserves to get what he wants.

_September 22nd, 2019_  
_Marina Bay Street Circuit, Singapore_

"Sir, I will need to see your pass," the security guard says, making an impatient gesture with his hand. "Or I will have you escorted back to the public entrance."

For a moment, Renjun hesitates, staring into the face of the security guard blocking the entrance to the paddock. Renjun knows that he has no business being here at all. He's less than an hour fresh from a last minute booked flight from Korea, having nothing else with him except a backpack, his phone, and the lanyard Yangyang had given him in Milan. Paddock is a place for people who belong here, and Renjun isn't one of them. He should be home in Sinchon, getting ready to open for his evening shift at Angel-In-Us, not hesitating outside the VIP lounge of one of the most glamorous racing circuits in the world. He shouldn't be here, but somehow, for some inexplicable reason, he is. Renjun pulls out his lanyard quietly and hands it over. He has no idea what he's doing, but he'll be damned if he didn't try.

The security guard takes a second to examine his pass, before waving him through. "Follow me, please."

And then Renjun's past the barrier, following the guard through swarms of crew members and upstairs into the upper viewing area. Renjun swallows, looking around at all the regulars in their finery, all dressed up for their Paddock club experience, and feels incredibly out of place. But Renjun pushes that to the back of his mind as he follows the guard through the crowd, finally opening up to the suites, and then freezes.

From the curtain windows, Renjun can see the entire pit lane, all the markings for when the starting grid would come into formation. The finish line is just a few meters away.

"Sir?"

Renjun looks to see the security guard waiting for him by a table right next to the windows. He goes over cautiously, sits down, shakily returning the smile that the guard gives him.

"First time in Paddock?"

"Yes," Renjun says quietly. 

The security guard gives him a knowing nod. "Your Paddock sponsor got you a great location."

Renjun frowns. "Location?"

"You're right on top of the Mercedes pit garages."

"Mercedes," Renjun repeats quietly, looking out through the windows.

The security guard gives him a small bow, before ducking out. "Enjoy the race, sir."

There's a wet bar in the corner of the lounge, but Renjun is so pumped alive with adrenaline he almost doesn't even want to think about getting a drink. He takes a step towards the curtain windows, looking down into the pit lanes, and sees the Mercedes pit crew swarming the cars. With his heart in his throat, Renjun sees Lee Taeyong with his helmet held against his side giving a short talk to a woman with a recorder, and Renjun scans the rest of crowd, all the white and robin egg's blue, and—there.

Yangyang is standing next to his car, looking directly up into the Paddock club windows, eyes going back and forth as if looking for someone. Looking for Renjun. Their eyes meet, and Renjun holds his breath, pressing his palms against the glass. Yangyang's eyes widen, his mouth falling open, and then his face bursts into life.

Incredibly, Renjun can feel himself smile back, returning the enthusiastic flapping of Yangyang's arms with a demure wave of his hand. Yangyang is mouthing something, and Renjun doesn't need to be next to him to know what words he's trying to say.

 _You came_ , he's telling him. _You're here_.

Against all odds, despite everything that's happened, Renjun is here. He wasn't prepared to be—his phone is almost out of battery, and he is dressed for flight in his sweatpants and track jacket. But he's here.

Suddenly, a hush falls over the entire Paddock club, and over the speakers, Renjun can hear the loudspeakers announce that the race is about to start.

All the Paddock guests are now flocking to the curtain windows, and Renjun hugs his elbows close to his ribcage, as if this will reign in the thunderous beating of his heart. Below them, the starting grid is assembling, the remaining crew members slowing leaving the drivers to their cars. Yangyang looks up at Renjun again, and gives him the most mischievous smile he's ever worn yet. He's starting in the back half of the grid, but Renjun isn't worried. Somehow, he isn't worried about him at all.

The lights in the Paddock club dim, and a giant television screen flickers on to show a live feed of the grid's front line.

Renjun watches the lights go off in pairs—eight, six, four, two—and then it's lights out. The only thing he can hear is the screech of rubber, Pirelli tyres on track, a wild and tumultuous cheer from the grandstands outside. 

"And the Ferrari peals away here at Marina Bay tonight, with Dong Sicheng in pole position, straight into turn one—can Wong Yukhei catch him?"

And sure enough, up at the front of the pack, the Red Bulls and the Ferraris are battling for the lead. But Renjun isn't paying attention to them, his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him, on a silver and white streaked chassis pulling away from the other cars with a great roar of engine.

A slow smile spreads across Renjun's face, as Singapore erupts around him.

> **Mercedes shines in Marina Bay  
>  **22 September, 2019 — Marina Bay, Singapore
> 
> After an exciting championship season so far, all eyes were on Marina Bay, Singapore, tonight. The Singapore Grand Prix is undoubtedly one of the most anticipated races on the calendar, not only as the only race to be held at night, but also as one of the most physically taxing and challenging circuits of the year. The late hours did nothing, however, to stop Mercedes' newest driver Liu Yangyang from asserting his dominance today, effectively putting an end to the bad luck that's relentlessly haunted him all season.
> 
> Fans and critics of Mercedes alike have been voicing their frustration with the team since Liu Yangyang's addition to the circuit this past March. The start of this season bore no blessings whatsoever for the F1 newcomer, as several of his races were befell with careless mistakes and avoidable accidents. All who have come to believe that Liu's addition to the team would cost Mercedes a clear shot at a constructor's championship and break their consecutive five year winning streak, however, were proven irrevocably, gloriously wrong in Singapore tonight, where Liu's audacious and fearless driving style shone especially bright in the glittering streets of Marina Bay.
> 
> True to form, the Marina Bay Street Circuit has been hailed as one of the most physically challenging races of the year, ever since its introduction to the calendar in 2008. The sheer length of the race coupled with the humidity and higher temperatures all have drivers, tyres, and crew wearing out much faster than normal. In addition, Liu's driving style—which seems to favor a high-risk, high-reward mentality—has not worked well for him for most of the calendar, as his dangerous attempts to overtake have resulted in multiple instances of contact, collisions, and penalties from the stewards. Tonight, however, Liu put to rest all doubts in his ability to perform under duress, ultimately gaining ten whole positions from where he started in P-11 after qualifiers yesterday.
> 
> Liu's true chance to shine came during the nineteenth lap, when a well-timed pit stop and a strategic switch to intermediate tyres had Liu coming out on top, lapping both his teammate Lee Taeyong and polesitter Dong Sicheng in the Ferrari, both of whom eventually joined him on the podium. After what has been a tumultuous debut season for Liu, his win in Singapore serves as a reminder to his fans, naysayers, and arguably even his team of why he was signed to Mercedes in the first place. Already, F1 fans are looking forward to seeing much, much more from Liu Yangyang, whose energy and enthusiasm are a perfect vestige to the true spirit of the sport. Because to win is always spectacular—and for that, we have the Lee Taeyongs and the Dong Sichengs of every era. But without any challenge, without those at the bottom relentlessly clawing their way up through the grid—as Liu Yangyang has done this year—Formula One racing would be very, very boring indeed.
> 
> _Written by Huang Renjun, for The Athletic_

**Author's Note:**

> giant thank you to crys and krys for holding my hand throughout this whole thing and for your invaluable help; to momo, zola, and eshi for listening to me complain about this fic nonstop (if EYE were me i would simply have proper time management skills<3); to my prompter—i hope this is something you enjoyed even though it strayed sooo far from the original prompt; to soleil, who had the art claim for this prompt and has been the hugest sweetheart; and finally, thank you admin for hosting and patiently answering my questions!
> 
> just as a note, i wanted to point out that typically the monaco grand prix takes place well after the china grand prix on the calendar, but in the interest of my plot, creative liberties were shamelessly taken. i love and respect all f1 timelines tho, i am just trying to tell a story here.
> 
> pretty please do leave me a comment with your thoughts—comments keep writers going!!! and don't forget kudos if you enjoyed<3
> 
> [twt](http://twitter.com/plosionlateral) | [cc](http://curiouscat.me/wayschanged)
> 
> (title from _drive_ by incubus)


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